


Ghost Stories

by Garonne



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:32:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5359514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garonne/pseuds/Garonne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Halloween, and Illya and Napoleon are camping in the woods. So of course something scary surely has to happen... Fluff with a few more serious undertones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost Stories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hils](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hils/gifts).



> Written for the Halloween prompt challenge at the mfu_scrapbook comm on livejournal. Many thanks to Elijahwildchild for beta-reading.

.. .. ..

Illya made his way carefully back through the trees from the river, his flashlight beam playing across the bracken-covered ground. It would be stupid to twist his ankle on a tree root, after surviving five days in the wilderness without a scratch.

He was thinking pleasant thoughts about Napoleon, a warm feeling of anticipation building in his gut. By wordless agreement they'd zipped the sleeping bags together when they made camp, since tonight they were officially no longer on duty. 

A flash of light up ahead caught his attention. Before he could react, something white and ethereal was sweeping down on him, an eery luminescent shape. It brushed against his face with soft, grasping fingers, crackling and whispering in his ears.

He stumbled backwards, just about managing to keep his balance, bring up his flashlight and draw his gun at the same time. Adrenaline had flooded his body, but close on its heels was annoyance, and a tinge of embarrassment.

For he could very clearly see now that the effigy was made of one of Napoleon's white undershirts, a flashlight, and the foil survival blanket.

He heard a low chuckle from somewhere behind him, a few feet above his head. He didn't have to turn around to know Napoleon was sitting up the nearest tree.

There came a soft thud on the bracken-covered forest floor, and then Napoleon was at his shoulder.

"That was a very interesting sound you made just now," he said into Illya's ear. "Would you call it a squawk? Or a squeak?"

Illya gritted his teeth.

"If that was supposed to be a ghost, Napoleon, it wasn't very convincing."

He heard a click, and a second flashlight beam appeared in the corner of his field of vision. Napoleon circled round so that he was in front of Illya, and peered at his face, holding the light so that it just missed Illya's eyes.

"Oh, I'd say it was quite convincing. You're white as a sheet."

Illya knew perfectly well that he wasn't, and that in any case the light wasn't nearly good enough for Napoleon to be able to see, one way or the other.

"And you're still ten years old, it seems."

Napoleon ignored this rather feeble attempt at a defense. He reached out and laid his hand on Illya's chest.

"Your heart's beating in double-time," he said, and raised a flirtatious eyebrow. "Or is that just because I'm here?"

"Don't you wish," Illya growled, shaking him off.

He stalked back to the camp, muttering to himself about childish people who had nothing better to do than creep around the woods at night.

They'd been hiking for five days now. Waverly had, mercifully, decided they needed a break after three international missions on the trot. He hadn't quite been able to bring himself to the extravagance of giving them unscheduled time off, but he had sent them to the Ozarks to test the terrain UNCLE's field instructors intended to use for their new survival training course. And in fact it was a hiking holiday in all but name, with far more home comforts than they usually had when they found themselves unexpectedly sleeping in the wild.

They'd zigzagged right across the chosen terrain, and tomorrow morning they'd be making their way back to the pickup point, and the waiting helicopter. Tonight, they'd built a cozy camp in a clearing in the woods, complete with campfire. Illya had been rather looking forward to the evening and night -- until Napoleon had realised it was Hallowe'en.

That had been the cue for Napoleon to spend dinner telling every ghost story he knew. It was somewhere in between the haunted gold mine and the tale of the monkey's paw that Illya had made the mistake of claiming he wouldn't turn a hair if he saw a ghost himself. Naturally, Napoleon had been obliged to take him up on the challenge.

Their campfire had died down to embers now, and Illya extinguished it completely. The temperature was in the low forties, and he was looking forward to crawling into bed -- after first carefully checking the sleeping bag for nasty Hallowe'en-themed surprises.

He dug a book out of his pack, and lay down to read by flashlight. He hadn't opened it since they'd left New York; he and Napoleon had spent the previous nights talking or playing cards. But tonight, it was time for the cold shoulder technique.

Napoleon followed him into the tent a few minutes later.

"You'll ruin your eyes," he said. 

Illya ignored him. Most of his attention on his book, he was aware of Napoleon slipping into the bag beside him, and zipping it up tightly around them.

"You're reading a ghost story!" Napoleon said suddenly, the disgust evident in his voice. "And to think I believed you when you pretended you didn't know it was Hallowe'en."

Illya laid down _The Turn of the Screw_ , and frowned at Napoleon.

"There's not a single ghost in the whole book," he said firmly, though the irony of the coincidence hadn't been lost on him. "It's about insanity and hallucination."

Napoleon was still looking at him suspiciously.

"Besides, I brought it because it was the shortest and lightest book I had to hand," Illya added.

"Hmm," said Napoleon, but he looked more or less convinced. "You really don't think it's a ghost story?" he asked after a pause.

"Do you?"

"Well, I prefer that interpretation... or the ambiguity, at least."

Illya considered that for a moment, then shrugged and went back to his book.

"Don't you want to be scared a little?" Napoleon said, teasingly.

"I've already been scared enough in my lifetime, thank you. Haven't you?"

Napoleon didn't answer, and Illya looked up to catch a sober expression on Napoleon's face, the teasing playfulness of a minute ago now banished.

Illya cursed himself.

"I'm sorry, Napoleon. I didn't mean to spoil your fun."

Napoleon gave him a rueful smile. 

"No, it's just the truth, that's all. But it would be rather nice to be scared by things that go bump in the night, wouldn't it? Monsters under the bed, and other fantasies."

Illya looked down at the book in his hand. 

"Actually I find insanity and hallucinations a lot scarier than ghosts would be, if there were any," he said soberly.

"Yes."

Illya could very clearly remember the last time Napoleon had been drugged into a hallucinatory state. He wasn't ever likely to forget opening that cell door to find Napoleon crouched in a heap in the corner, convinced Illya was his torturer come back for one more session. For Illya himself, the most recent time had been a few months before that, and the only positive aspect was that he couldn't remember very much of it now. He laid his book on the groundsheet outside the sleeping bag, and switched off his flashlight. Somehow he didn't feel much like reading any more.

He felt Napoleon turn over, and then a hand covered his wrist. Illya rolled towards him in turn, so he could kiss Napoleon's lips. In the dark he hit his nose instead, and that startled a laugh from both of them.

It was warm and cozy in the tent, they were together, and that was all that mattered. Illya let himself relax, banishing from his mind all ghosts, ghouls and the horrors of the real world. Napoleon's hands were warm, his lips were soft and familiar, and the sleeping bag was a cocoon that held them close.

It wasn't until half an hour later that Illya remembered he was supposed to be annoyed with Napoleon, but that seemed supremely unimportant now.


End file.
